Charming
by SuperKateB
Summary: If you ask him up-front, he'll give you an honest answer - he's no Prince Charming.


"I'm a guy who happens to care about you a lot. I may not be  
  
your Prince Charming, riding on a white stallion to your bedside to kiss  
  
you and wake you up, but I will be that cowboy riding up on a brown   
  
horse, with straw hat and gun in hand, picking you up and throwing you on  
  
the back of my horse to get you the Hell out of there whenever you  
  
need."  
  
-Jake Stinson  
  
==========  
  
"Charming"  
  
A Sailor Moon Fanfiction  
  
By Kate "SuperKate" Butler  
  
==========  
  
The most embarrassing moment of my life was on June 30, 1996.  
  
Those of you who know me well - or even at all - may know June  
  
30 not as just a random date during the calendar year but rather the  
  
birthday of my belovéd, a young woman known primarily as Tsukino Usagi.  
  
Trust me when I say I know this date. I know it backwards, forwards,  
  
upside down, sideways, and in six different languages. You could   
  
probably wake me up in the middle of the night after I've been up   
  
three days straight cramming for an exam at my medical school and ask  
  
me, "What does the date June 30 mean to you?" and I would sit up,   
  
answer "Why, that's Usako's birthday," and then crash back into bed  
  
as though nothing had ever happened.  
  
I learned the date of her birthday on her birthday two years  
  
ago - which would be June 30, 1996.  
  
Imagine with me, if you would be so kind, going for a walk on  
  
a pleasant, warm summer's day and suddenly running into your girlfriend.  
  
Oh, but keep in mind this is not any ordinary girlfriend - this is a   
  
young woman you have spent a thousand years searching for, one you have  
  
lost three different times for all sorts of various, twisted reasons,  
  
and one who you know, for a dead-on fact, you will be spending the  
  
rest of your life with. This girlfriend is a combination between   
  
Helen of Troy and Shirley Temple; she's the innocent, sweet, and   
  
adorable face that could damn-well launch a thousand ships if she so  
  
pleased. And so, you're quite excited to run into this legendary  
  
girlfriend as you're wandering around in your jogging clothes, hoping to  
  
stop by the grocery store for milk and perhaps a sports drink before  
  
going home and studying for an upcoming biology exam. You would be   
  
excited and happy to see her, right?  
  
Even if she was irrationally ticked off at you and raving about  
  
glass slippers and do you KNOW what day today is and you're a horrible  
  
man and how DARE you?  
  
Even if she slapped you across the face on a crowded sidewalk  
  
and then stormed off?  
  
Even if she made you feel so guilty that you bought her   
  
expensive glass shoes for what you were convinced were no good reason?  
  
Even if, after a day and a half of fighting, she realizes in a  
  
rare bolt of enlightenment that the entire ordeal could have been   
  
avoided if, perhaps, she'd just bothered to tell you when her birthday  
  
was in the first place?  
  
Nothing in my years of existence - both past, present, and   
  
quite possibly future, as well - can compare to the embarrassment I   
  
felt standing on that sidewalk on that fateful day, strangers staring at  
  
me as Usako drew her hand across my face and then skulked off. For   
  
being not-quite five feet tall and petite to boot, she's a strong  
  
little minx, and the blow left me nursing a red cheek in front of a good  
  
two-dozen strangers. But more than that, the blow left me nursing an  
  
extraordinarily wounded ego, one that hasn't quite recovered, even now.  
  
Oh, no! Before you even begin to assume that I'm one of those   
  
brooding types who can't get over dropping a piece of eggshell into his  
  
omelet or can't recover from being slapped by his girlfriend, I'm   
  
honestly not. I went through the "morose" phase back in early high   
  
school and it really didn't pan out that well for me. Motoki put it best  
  
when he noted in front of about two-thirds of our 9th grade class that  
  
I look awful in black and worse in dark eye makeup. So the semi-  
  
permanent scar on my otherwise fairly well-endowed ego is not at all  
  
based on that moment in time. It is, however, based on many moments  
  
in time, moments so numerous that I just like to use the birthday  
  
example as the penultimate moment in all my struggles. No other   
  
fight, moment of discontent, disappointed puppy-dog look, or whimper  
  
from Usako even comes close to the slap on the sidewalk. But they still  
  
exist, and I'm not sure what hurts more - the single slap, or what is  
  
now two years of incidents not too dissimilar to moment in time.  
  
Don't get me wrong, though I'm sure you're beginning to - I love  
  
Usako. I love Usako with all my heart and there is not one thing in the  
  
world that will ever change that. She could sleep with Motoki, give  
  
birth to his child, then sleep with Rei and - by some miracle of modern  
  
medicine - give birth to HER child, and then just sniffle in my direction  
  
and I would take her back. Even if she isn't the most intelligent woman  
  
I have ever met (or dated), and even if she has her flaws, she is just  
  
this pure, sweet, beautiful ray of light and hope that I can't even  
  
begin to describe to you without sounding trite, silly, and like a   
  
stereotypical star-struck boyfriend. But every couple has their issues,  
  
and I would like to think that ours is the fact that she expects me to  
  
be her Prince Charming.  
  
Every woman deserves her Prince Charming. I'm not going to deny  
  
any girl her right to dream of a white knight on a beautiful white   
  
steed, riding up to her front porch a few moments before dusk and then  
  
stealing her away to gallop off into the sunset. But every woman  
  
also has to eventually realize that no man is perfect, and that maybe  
  
stalking all the P. Charmings in the phone book is not a good way  
  
to go about finding a permanent mate.  
  
I suppose part of this stigma is my fault. I played the   
  
mysterious hero coming to the rescue of the damsel-in-distress enough  
  
times during my cape-boy days that I sometimes wonder if I didn't   
  
completely pigeon-hole myself into the role of Prince Charming before  
  
I even came to know that Sailor Moon and Tsukino Usagi where one in  
  
the same and I was actually destined to marry the flighty girl I   
  
occasionally flirted with in the video arcade. I mean, I threw red  
  
roses as weapons. RED ROSES. I can't imagine a more stereotypical   
  
projectile weapon, and I'm certain that if I could have imagined such a  
  
thing, I would have employed it immediately.  
  
And then, there was the whole issue with me actually being  
  
a real, armor-wearing, sword-toting prince, but assure me when I say  
  
that I could have been a rag-wearing hobo and it wouldn't have changed  
  
matters very much. By then, I already was expected to hop on a white  
  
horse, armor or no.  
  
I probably wouldn't even complain about being Usako's Prince  
  
Charming if she maintained relatively realistic expectations for what  
  
it means to be a good boyfriend. I can handle doing dishes, putting the  
  
seat down, and understanding the fact that "I have a headache" actually  
  
means "go to Hell and take your libido with you." And that's fine. But  
  
Usako tends to expect the extraordinary from me. I'm expected to   
  
remember the minutest details of events from years ago (such as what  
  
she was wearing the first time we kissed), learn of important dates   
  
through telepathy or, at the very least, ESP, figure out without any  
  
aid what that particular frown means as well as what, exactly, I did to  
  
deserve it, and other standards that I promise you not even Prince   
  
Charming himself could live up to. She doesn't even hold herself to  
  
those standards - just me.  
  
Sometimes, when she's done something particularly infuriating  
  
and made me feel particularly guilty for it - perhaps she's asked me to  
  
remember the date we first played footsie in a public place with   
  
others present and then started bawling when my stab in the dark was   
  
completely off - I will sit in my apartment and, before I pick up the  
  
cordless phone to call her and apologize profusely for my actions,   
  
hope silently to myself that, perhaps, Usako will want to take a break  
  
and go chase after all the other princes in the neighborhood. After all,  
  
her friends seem to think that there are as many P. Charmings in   
  
Tokyo and its surrounding area as there are J. Smiths in New York City,  
  
and I'm certainly not going to be the one to ruin that dream for them.  
  
But you know what else?  
  
My hope is always a fleeting one, and I always pick up that  
  
phone and end up promising to, the next time around, be a better   
  
Prince Charming.  
  
===  
  
Fin.  
  
Author's notes: A short Mamoru one-shot generated from a conversation   
  
with Starsea. Mamoru came out a bit more sarcastic and snarky than I   
  
expected him to, but at the same time, he's got a good spin on his voice.  
  
I like the way it turned out.  
  
Special thanks to Starsea for helping spark this baby, and to my   
  
betas, Yumeko and May. And may all three of my girls find THEIR  
  
P. Charmings. I found mine in the Maryland phone book. ;)  
  
May 20, 2004  
  
1:54 a.m. 


End file.
